


Love, Let Me Sleep Tonight On Your Couch

by dotfic



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-29
Updated: 2006-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels the familiar prickling at the base of her neck and knows he's gotten in past her security systems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Let Me Sleep Tonight On Your Couch

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Written for the [Dick &amp; Babs commentfic fest](http://liviapenn.livejournal.com/395902.html)

She gets back to the clocktower before he does, which isn't a surprise, considering. While she waits, she gathers up what she knows will be needed, sets it out on the coffee table.

Finally, she feels the familiar prickling at the base of her neck and knows he's scaled the building, gotten in past her security systems, and is standing in the doorway.

"Okay, former boy wonder," she points at the sofa. "Let's take a look at the damage."

"Babs, I'm _fine_," he insists, and he sounds so petulant she almost laughs.

She doesn't say anything, just keeps pointing.

He sits.

"Shirt," she says, and when he peels off the top half of his uniform, she averts her eyes, wondering when it became necessary for her to do that lest she give something away.

There's a long thin scratch along his left side. The blood has dried and crusted. She gently pokes him and he winces, then tries to act like he hasn't.

"You aren't fooling me, Grayson. Probably a cracked rib, maybe two. And if you pretend this doesn't sting, I may have to smack you."

"Ow, oh, the agony, ow, ow," he says theatrically as she applies iodine to the cut.

"Very funny." A layer of gauze, some surgical tape. She tears the tape off with her teeth. He reaches for his top but she touches his wrist, stopping him. "Not yet. Still have to bind your ribs."

It's necessary for her to reach around him to do this, while he holds his arms obligingly in the air. She becomes acutely aware that the dress she wore on their assignment has spaghetti straps and a lot of exposed skin.

She's not sure, but his arms maybe lower just a little, closer to her.

Briskly, she finishes taping his torso and pulls away. While she gathers up the surgical supplies, he pulls the top half of his uniform back on, and stands up. "Thanks for the patch job, Babs. Alfred couldn't have done it better."

"Where are you going?"

"Back home. My motorcycle is just..."

"Two. Cracked. Ribs," she says. "You can stay on my couch and go home when you're in some kind of state to move."

He stretches. "I'm okay. Just didn't expect there to be a sixth guy up on the roof--"

"You're gritting your teeth," she says, snapping the first aid cut shut with a click.

"Am not."

There's a pause, during which the hum of the computers in the next room seems loud like water rushing.

"Okay," he says. "Maybe I was. Maybe I am a little sore."

"The couch is soft. You want a painkiller?"

"No. Just the kind of thing it's best to sleep off."

"I'm sorry," she says. "About the sixth guy. I really thought there was only five."

"What?" He catches the pillow she tosses him. "No, that wasn't your...I should have waited for your confirmation signal."

"Extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. You know the drill." She turns her wheelchair. "Hazelnut," she says, and a few lights shut off. "Good night." In the half-darkness, he's just a silhouette on her couch.

As she starts to wheel herself down the hall towards her room, he calls out after her, "Hey, Babs!"

"Yeah?" She calls back.

"Nice dress."  


* * *


End file.
